


Flustered

by cordkitty



Series: One Shots and Prompts and Stuff for Lokil Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blushing, Dragon Age Quest: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, F/M, First touches, Fluff, Halamshiral, Kisses, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, Romance, dadrunkwriting, prompt, rants can be freeing, sfw, she really doesn't like Orlesians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9657761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordkitty/pseuds/cordkitty
Summary: "The Orlesians suddenly seemed the last thing on her mind, as she felt her heart beating faster than it should during a quiet evening walk."Short fluffly piece I wrote for DAdrunkwriting over on tumblr.





	

Flustered

The grand ball at Halamshiral was only a few days away. She kept to herself, exploring the Palace's ornamental gardens, sitting by herself in their marble pavilions, reading, and watching the Orlesians. They seemed so strange to her in their extravagant dresses, hiding their faces behind masks and their words behind gilded fans made of dark silks. She had never imagined a place like this; Orlais could boast a well of culture, its architecture, music, food - but there was something so artificial about it, it baffled her that anyone would choose to live like this, surrounded by all this outward splendour and magnificent appearances, never speaking their thoughts and living freely. She wasn't used to measuring everything by its ability to hide behind gilded marble and shrewd words or to having to manoeuvre her way carefully through every conversation, every gathering.

She wanted time to prepare herself, observe, get an idea of what it would take to achieve her goals without attracting negative attention and losing potential alliances. Much as she began to dislike the stiflingly sweet air and the contrived word plays, she needed Orlais by her side in the coming war. And so, she studied their manners and their curious habits in an attempt to understand who she was dealing with, and how to win them over.

It was early evening, and the sun was setting on the far horizon, sinking into soft shreds of cotton-wool clouds streaked with pink and gold against the already deep blue night sky above. She was meandering aimlessly, lost in thoughts about how far removed from home she felt here. She didn't hear the footsteps behind her.

"Going anywhere in particular?" She was stirred from her thoughts, and turned to see Solas walking up behind her.

"Nowhere in particular, no.", she said, smiling at the sight of him. His face was familiar enough to make her feel less out of place.

"You look deep in thought. Is anything the matter?"

"Not exactly, no."

He smiled quietly at her out of the corner of his eye, a knowing look on his face. "How do you like Orlais? _The centre of modern culture, this grand and splendid Empire that the whole of Thedas looks to for guidance_." His voice dripped sarcasm, and he gave her a wicked little half-smile.

"Guidance on how to properly hold your fork and the perfume of the season, maybe. I find it _irritating_." It was the first word that came to mind; and she went on, her impatience with their ridiculously decadent ways clear in her indignant voice. "The way they live! They think themselves the nub of the world, entirely ignorant of anything that doesn't come in the ' _latest colours_ '. And I have to convince them that the Inquisition is worth their precious time? I think it's outrageous that we have to depend on these superficial idiots for support in a _war_. War, Solas. It requires sacrifice, lives are lost, families destroyed. Some of the soldiers that fight for us have lost everything they had. Think of the pain they must be in, and there's nothing we can do for them. And these _utter_ _morons_ \- ", she looked angrily around at the scattered groups of noblemen strolling through the garden, "- they busy themselves with the latest fashions and _court intrigue_." Her fingers sketched quotation marks in the air. "And the worst thing is, they're not even _honest_ about who they are. They hide behind etiquette and they have talked themselves into actually believing that their petty politics make a difference, that any of it _matters_. 'Oh how _important_ we are! What do you mean she wore _those_ shoes? With _that_ dress? And she served _that_ wine with _that_ dish? She must be tired of life itself!'"

At this, he couldn't hold back a single bursting laugh. "So, something _is_ the matter, then."

"And I have to curtsy and pretend and bow and scrape at their feet, feign interest in their ridiculous affairs to get them to _graciously_ grant their help. It's _disgusting_.", she almost spat the word.

She looked back at him, as he gave another snorting laugh; she seemed to have almost forgotten who she was talking to, as she lost herself in her rant. She couldn't suppress a grin of her own as she realized how childish she must have sounded. He adored how passionate she was, how impossible it seemed to deter her from what she thought truly mattered. She wouldn't let herself be blinded by pretentious grandeur and poisonously sweet words.

"I know we need them", she went on more calmly. "I know there's no way around it. I will have to do my best not to raise their ire-", sarcasm again, "- about stepping on countless important toes or at the fact that I care very little for their silly games." She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I just needed to vent."

"I can tell."

He stopped suddenly, and took her hand, intertwining her fingers with his, forgetting to keep up his well constructed facade of stiff aloofness for a moment. His usually cool and collected demeanour fractured slightly in the face of her endearing hot temper.

"You don't have to change for _me_.", he murmured into her ear, and he leaned in and placed a light kiss on her temple, sending a soft chill down her spine; then he let go of her hand, a slightly flustered look on his face, apparently surprised by his own courage.

A soft pink blush crept into her cheeks and to the tips of her pointed ears, and he had to struggle for a moment at the wish to place more kisses in other places. He tore himself away, in time. He smiled awkwardly and walked away, leaving her stunned into silence.

The Orlesians suddenly seemed the last thing on her mind, as she felt her heart beating faster than it should during a quiet evening walk.


End file.
